


'Cause, Darling, I Was Born to Press My Head Between Your Shoulder Blades

by whisperedstory



Series: This Life That We've Created [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Endearments, Established Relationship, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Jealous Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kaer Morhen, M/M, Miscommunication, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:20:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24077371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperedstory/pseuds/whisperedstory
Summary: Winter comes early that year and Jaskier and Geralt set out to travel to Kaer Morhen.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: This Life That We've Created [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1737058
Comments: 103
Kudos: 1319





	'Cause, Darling, I Was Born to Press My Head Between Your Shoulder Blades

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by [dancing_adrift](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancing_Adrift)!
> 
> Title taken from "Fair" by The Amazing Devil

Autumn creeps up on them slowly. The days get progressively shorter and while the good weather holds at first, it soon becomes noticeably chillier at night. The lush greenery of summer turns yellow and golden and then harvest season is in full swing. 

"We should start heading north," Geralt says one late afternoon. They made camp by a river an hour ago and the sun is already low in the sky now. Geralt hopes the shirt he just washed and laid out to dry will not still be damp come morning.

Jaskier stops humming and looks up from the fish he's been gutting. When they first met he would have wrinkled his nose at the task and left it to Geralt, but Jaskier has changed over the years and it fills Geralt with a sense of pride to see him so accustomed to life on the road with him. Jaskier still finds comfort in his luxuries, likes his silky, foppish clothes, still indulges in expensive soaps and perfumes and enjoys sleeping in soft beds—but he longs to be back out on the road after a few days in a village just as much as Geralt does, can keep up with Geralt without tiring out and waxes poetics about sleeping under the stars. He sets traps without batting an eye, starts a fire almost as quickly as Geralt can and his clothes are covered in dirt more often than not these days. Jaskier might have traveled before they met, but Geralt still isn't quite sure how he didn't get himself killed or starve himself to death. But these days Jaskier is as comfortable on the road as he is in a court.

Now, he smiles at Geralt, silver scales sticking to his hands. "There's time still," he says. "Though it _is_ getting colder. Lucky me, I have my very own witcher to keep me warm at night. And you do so marvelously, my dear."

He winks at Geralt, his smile becoming more sly. Geralt rolls his eyes at him and goes to grab flint and steel from his pack to start the fire that Jaskier built while Geralt was catching the fish.

"I want to make it to Kaer Morhen before the first snowfall," he elaborates. "The trail is a lot easier if there's no snow or sleet yet."

"We are not too far south, luckily," Jaskier points out. He makes a satisfied noise. "All done. I'm going to go clean my hands and get the stench off my skin."

Geralt simply hums in reply. He sneaks a glance at Jaskier's retreating back as he heads for the shore of the river. He's discarded his doublet and the sleeves of his white, embroidered shirt are rolled up to his elbows, the thin material barely hiding his body underneath. 

By the time Jaskier returns, the fire is dancing merrily and the fish, speared onto long sticks, is sizzling over the heat. 

"Smells good," Jaskier notes as he sits down next to Geralt.

Geralt wordlessly reaches for his cloak, folded up next to his pack, and slips it around Jaskier's shoulders. His shirt is damp in several places now, almost completely see-through, and there are goosebumps on his bare arms. It'll get too hot under the cloak quickly, but it'll help Jaskier warm up faster than just the fire would.

"Thank you," Jaskier murmurs and tilts his head to the side, giving Geralt a small smile. "So. You still wish for me to come to Kaer Morhen with you then?"

Geralt frowns. "Of course. Unless you have changed your mind?"

He keeps his voice even, trying not to show that he would care if Jaskier had.

Jaskier snorts and pats Geralt's arm, his fingers cold against Geralt's warm skin where the sleeves are rolled up, and then leaves his hand there. "Let's see. Would I rather winter with you in a keep full of witchers that is shrouded in legends, or spend a few dreary, cold months in some city on my own, with no one to share my bed?"

"You've never had trouble finding someone to keep your bed warm at night, Jaskier," Geralt points out with a huff.

There's a moment of silence and it stretches on just long enough for Geralt to start feeling uncomfortable. "Of course," Jaskier finally says, voice light. "Well, regardless. I would very much still like to accompany you to Kaer Morhen."

"Good," Geralt says, nodding, and he feels a flood of relief even though he hadn't even realized this was something he had been worried about. 

They haven't spoken about Kaer Morhen since he first brought it up in spring and a lot of months have passed since, so it wouldn't have been unreasonable for Jaskier to have changed his mind. To want to return to Oxenfurt or find a small court that would be happy to have him for a few months. It would have been fine, of course—they split up sometimes and have spent most winters apart since they started traveling together. Geralt wants Jaskier at Kaer Morhen with him, though, wants to show him this part of his life that he has never shared with anyone else. Winters in Kaer Morhen are long and hard, but he thinks Jaskier will enjoy it nonetheless—he has a suspicion Eskel and perhaps even Lambert will be much more willing than he often is to share stories with Jaskier, give him new fodder for his songs.

The thought makes Geralt's stomach twist with jealousy, but he knows he has no right to feel that way and it's not fair to Jaskier. He _wants_ Jaskier to be happy in Kaer Morhen after all. And as long as Jaskier sleeps in his bed every night, Geralt will live with having to share his attention during the day.

"Lost in thought?" Jaskier murmurs, squeezing his arm briefly. 

Geralt lifts his head towards him and offers him a small smile. "Just thinking about the best route for us to take," he lies.

Jaskier hums and rests his head against Geralt's shoulder. "Will there be time to make a detour to a city for a few days? I'm afraid I'm in need of a new outfit or two before winter; some of my things are wearing thin. And I want to stock up on parchment and ink, and some new strings for my lute."

"There's time," Geralt allows. "If you don't dawdle when we travel."

Jaskier gasps and presses a hand to his chest, but doesn't lift his head. "I would never, Geralt."

"Hmm."

Jaskier laughs. "I will not dawdle, my dear, I promise," he says. "Is the fish ready soon? I am positively starving. And I believe we still have some wine left."

"We do?"

"I might have bought some in the village we passed through yesterday and slipped it into Roach's saddlebags," Jaskier admits slyly and straightens up. 

*

That night, curled up under a blanket together, Jaskier presses close against him and his breath hitches as he rolls their hips together. He grabs Geralt's arm tightly, fingers digging into muscles.

"Geralt," he breathes and he sounds urgent, needy, and desire pools in Geralt's body quickly. He hauls Jaskier into a kiss, and Jaskier groans into his mouth.

He lets go of Geralt's arm and grabs his hand, which has been resting firmly on Jaskier's hip, and guides it behind him.

"Touch me," he mumbles between kisses, and Geralt grunts in reply and complies. He's not sure where Jaskier's sudden desperation is coming from, thinks maybe it's the wine because drinking sometimes has that effect on Jaskier. It makes him loose and horny and even more vocal than usual. Geralt doesn't mind it one bit, though. He tugs at the strings at the back of Jaskier's trousers so he can slide his hand under the fabric, palm smooth skin and squeeze firm flesh before letting a first finger slip between Jaskier's cheeks.

"Oh gods," Jaskier groans. "Want you inside me, Geralt. Please. Want you, so much, _always_." 

The words make Geralt's stomach flutter, and he trails his mouth over Jaskier's jaw, murmurs soft shushing sounds into his skin and lets his finger dip lower, play over Jaskier's hole.

He would give Jaskier anything he asks for. Not just now, not just when they're like this, but Jaskier doesn't need to know that, so Geralt just kisses Jaskier again.

*

"You promised no dawdling," Geralt reminds him the next day, glancing back at Jaskier, who is trailing a bit behind him and Roach.

Jaskier stops completely and puts his hands on his hips, narrowing his eyes. "Oh. _Oh_ , I apologize. I'm a bit sore, you see? So if you want me to walk faster, dear, I'm afraid you will have to make do with my hands and mouth until we reach Kaer Morhen," he says flippantly, but Geralt can see he's trying to bite back a laugh. "Or, perhaps, just _your_ own hands if you choose to say another word."

Geralt's lips twitch but he manages not to smile, grunting in reply. He brings Roach to a halt. "Get up here," he says.

Jaskier's eyes briefly widen and then his lips turn up into a gleeful smile. "Well, if I had known that threatening to withhold sex would make you allow me to ride Roach, I would have done so a long time ago," he says and hurries to catch up with them.

"Don't get any ideas, Jaskier," Geralt mutters.

Jaskier laughs and holds out his hand. Geralt takes it and helps haul him up onto Roach in front of him. 

"Too late," Jaskier says and pats Roach gently as Geralt slides his arms around Jaskier's waist and grabs the reins. "I will buy you the shiniest, juiciest apple the next time we're in a village, darling."

Geralt makes a noise of complaint, because Jaskier already spoils Roach enough as it is, and Jaskier turns his head back towards him.

"Oh shush, you," he says and kisses his cheek, sloppy and off-center. "You will get a reward too, don't you worry."

"I'm glad you treat me the same as my horse." 

"I am nothing if not fair," Jaskier agrees, and Geralt huffs.

They ride in silence for a few moments before Geralt lets out a small sigh. "I wasn't too rough with you last night, was I?"

"Don't be silly. You weren't rough at all and I wouldn't have minded it if you had been, you know that," Jaskier replies, his tone exasperated but serious. "You're not going to accidentally break me one day."

Just the thought makes Geralt's stomach feel heavy and he doesn't reply. 

"Geralt," Jaskier prompts. After a moment of silence he sighs, says quietly, softly, "Fine. Tell me about Kaer Morhen, then, if that isn't a conversation you want to have."

"What about Kaer Morhen?"

"Anything you want," Jaskier says. "But perhaps start with telling me if there is anything I shouldn't be doing or talking about while there. Any questions I shouldn't be asking, because you know I will have many. I don't want to accidentally enrage a whole keep full of witchers."

"Hmm, and you will listen to what I say?"

"Perhaps not," Jaskier admits and Geralt can hear the grin in his voice even if he can't see his face. "But I shall try."

*

There's a noticeable drop in temperature over the next couple of weeks and the sky is overcast more days than not. The earthy smell of late autumn—of damp soil and rotting leaves—fills the now crisp air.

Geralt is glad he suggested to set out for Kaer Morhen early, because he fears winter will come sooner rather than later this year. It makes him urge them on a little faster, insisting on fewer breaks and longer days of travel.

There's little time to stop for contracts along the way, so most of the coin coming in is from Jaskier's performances. He is fairly popular these days and he makes enough for them to pay for what they need on the road. But most of the villages they pass through are small and the people don't have much to give and Jaskier sometimes plays deep into the night to fill their pockets.

"I don't mind," he says one night when Geralt kisses his red, callused fingers when Jaskier finally crawls into bed with him. His voice sounds hoarse from singing for hours and exhaustion is written into every line of his body.

"Maybe I can find a contract somewhere close by," Geralt says.

"Winter's coming early this year," Jaskier points out and shuffles closer, tucking his body against Geralt's. "I can feel it. And I know you can too. Let's focus on getting to Kaer Morhen."

Geralt sighs.

"It's okay, Geralt," Jaskier murmurs. "I will be able to get plenty of rest this winter and you can spoil me all you want."

"Winters at Kaer Morhen aren't easy, Jaskier," Geralt tells him quietly, worried Jaskier has the wrong idea about the winter ahead of them. There is always work to do around the keep, and even though Jaskier will be a guest, he will be expected to do his share of work and not just be idle.

"Oh, I know. I'm aware we're not wintering at a court of some noble, my dear," Jaskier says. "But there will be hot meals and a warm bed for us and that is more than we can sometimes afford on the road."

Geralt nods, even if Jaskier can't see him in the dark of the room. His lips find Jaskier's forehead and he presses a soft kiss there. "Get some rest now," he murmurs.

"You too," Jaskier replies around a yawn and burrows his face in the crook of Geralt's neck.

*

The detour to a city sets them back several days. Jaskier has made enough coin that he can buy the supplies and clothes he needs, as well as two new tunics for Geralt because—as Jaskier so kindly points out—his are falling apart at the seams. Geralt manages to talk Jaskier into buying two doublets that are less flashy, but a bit sturdier and warmer, and he finds a thick cloak for Jaskier at the market. It's dark gray with silver embroidery along the seams, the material heavy but soft to the touch and the inside is lined with warm fur.

It's expensive, but it's a good investment. A necessary one that Geralt is happy to spend the last of his coin on if it means Jaskier will be warm throughout winter.

Jaskier carefully holds the wrapped bundle to his chest as they leave, after thanking Geralt profusely for the purchase as if Geralt gifted him the finest jewelry rather than a cloak for winter.

"It'll be a couple of days until the seamstress has my outfits ready. I can make some coin in the tavern in the meantime, enough to pay for room and food at the very least," he says, smiling, as they head back to their inn. The smile is genuine, cheerful, even though Geralt knows the last few weeks have been exhausting and his clothes already hang a little looser than they did this summer.

Geralt makes a mental note to make sure Jaskier eats more. He has been riding with him on Roach a lot, taking naps curled up against Geralt to make up for the short nights, but Geralt will be glad to reach Kaer Morhen.

"I'll look for a contract while we're here, something quick I can take care of before we leave," he decides. "If we have some money to spare, we should buy some supplies we can take to Kaer Morhen with us. The keep will be stocked up, but a little extra never hurts." 

Jaskier nods, but Geralt notices he looks hesitant. "Something easy, though, promise? You shouldn't risk getting hurt right now; it would delay our travels further."

"Something easy," Geralt agrees roughly and lets his hand rest on Jaskier's back as they walk.

*

Geralt tears the stale bread in half and passes one piece to Jaskier. There's a chilly wind today, but at least the sky is clear and the sun is out. They're sitting near a small stream where they can refill their waterskins and break for lunch. 

Geralt watches out of the corner of his eye as Jaskier chews slowly and washes the bread down with water, grimacing a little. Geralt can't blame him—the bread is only a day away from turning hard as a rock and inedible. Neither of them comments though, because right now even bad food is better than no food.

"See the mountains," Geralt starts, breaking the silence, and nods at the mountain rage at the horizon.

"My eyes might not be as good as a witcher's, but I'm not blind," Jaskier replies, shooting Geralt a quick grin.

Geralt snorts. "Those are the Blue Mountains," he elaborates, not sure if Jaskier knows. 

Judging by the way he turns his gaze ahead—eyes roaming over the mountains that are rising up in the far, far distance, his mouth parted in a small 'o' as he takes it in as if seeing it for the first time—he didn't. 

Whenever Geralt travels to Kaer Morhen, that moment when the Blue Mountains first come into view has always felt special. Seeing them fills him with a sense of home twisted with a myriad of emotions, not all of them good, but there's always relief there.

He wonders if Jaskier feels relief too, with their destination finally in sight, far away as it still might be. Or if maybe he has second thoughts, if the realization that they will spend months high up in the mountains, lonely and isolated, is setting in and making him doubt his choice. Geralt wouldn't fault him for it.

Whatever he is thinking, he doesn't voice it. For once, Jaskier remains silent. But he reaches for Geralt's hand and takes it in his.

*

The last inn they stay at before heading up the mountain to Kaer Morhen is small and cheap; it's all they can afford, having spent the rest of their coin on as much food as Roach will be able to carry. Outside, it's raining heavily, big drops splashing against the one small window, and their room feels damp and cold and drafty.

"Eat," Geralt says, pushing the last of his stew over to Jaskier.

Jaskier makes a quiet noise and looks at him. "You need more food than I do."

"Not right now," Geralt says pointedly. "I can go without food for longer than humans. Eat, Jaskier."

Jaskier doesn't look happy, lips pressed together, but he spoons the rest of the stew into his mouth. It's watery and doesn't taste great, but Geralt made sure there were a few chunks of meat and carrots left for him. The long days of travel and little sleep, the nights he spends in taverns to make coin, are more and more visibly taking their toll on Jaskier, his face looking thinner, his cheekbones sharper.

Geralt gets up and gets his cloak, tossing it onto the bed so they can use it as an extra layer for the night.

"Tell me it will be warmer at Kaer Morhen," Jaskier says, sounding a bit despondent.

Geralt offers him a dry smile. "Winter has barely started," he reminds him. "It gets miserably cold up in the mountains."

"Geralt."

Geralt huffs a laugh. "There will be plenty of furs to keep us warm and big fireplaces. We won't freeze," he assures Jaskier. 

"Good. Or I will invite the other witchers into our bed," Jaskier warns.

Geralt falls silent, the bitter bite of jealousy a familiar feeling by now.

Jaskier sighs. "It was a joke; I hope you know that, dear. I think one witcher is already more than enough for me to handle," he says. He lets his spoon drop into the bowl with a clatter and leans back, running a hand over his face. "Gods, I'm tired. I don't remember what it feels like not to be tired anymore."

"We should head to bed anyway, so we can rise early and leave at dawn," Geralt says and sits down at the edge of the bed to pull off his boots.

Jaskier lets out a small groan, and Geralt wishes they could stay another day so Jaskier could get some proper rest before they start their trek up the mountains. But they would have to pay for the room for another night and the chances of the weather turning worse before they make it to the keep would increase. 

Jaskier gets up and joins him on the bed, but doesn't make a move to take off his boots or strip out of his doublet. "Just a few more days, right?" he says, the cheerful tone in his voice forced.

Geralt sighs and wraps his arm around Jaskier, who leans into him immediately, tucking his head under Geralt's chin. 

"They will be the hardest days yet," Geralt murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crown of Jaskier's head.

"Very encouraging, Geralt," Jaskier mutters with a scoff.

Geralt smiles. "You'll be fine, bard," he says. "We might get some rain, but if we travel fast we should make it before the first snow falls."

"And I have a witcher to keep me safe," Jaskier adds. Just then there's a particularly strong gust of wind outside, making the windows rattle in the frame, and Jaskier shudders. 

"Come on. It'll be warmer in bed," Geralt reminds him and presses a final kiss to Jaskier's hair.

And it is, but just barely. There's no fireplace in the room and while the pile of blankets and both of their cloaks ward off the worst of the chill, it's not quite _warm._ Jaskier presses against him, chest to chest, and Geralt curls around him as best as he can. 

*

"Fuck," Geralt curses, keeping a tight hand on Roach's reins as he walks beside her. The heavy sleet that is coming down is icy cold, stinging against exposed skin and making the ground under their feed muddy and the rocks slippery.

Geralt turns to look at Jaskier, who is walking behind him. The hood of his cloak is pulled low over his face, his head ducked, and Geralt's body offers some protection as well, but what little Geralt can see of his face is pale and tense as they press on.

"Can you make it for another hour?" Geralt asks. 

"Yes," Jaskier replies, his voice strained. One-word answers from Jaskier are never a good thing and Geralt almost stops to let them find shelter among the rocks now. But if they push further ahead, they can reach Kaer Morhen before nightfall tomorrow.

"Shit," Jaskier yelps behind him and it's only Geralt's quick reflexes, turning and grabbing Jaskier by the arms, that stops him from falling, his feet slipping around on the ground before finding purchase again.

"Okay?" Geralt asks gruffly.

Jaskier peers at him, water dripping down from the edge of his hood and the tip of his nose, mouth pursed in a frown. "Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks," he says. "Let's keep going?"

Geralt lets go of him and nods. "Just stick close to me and keep your eyes on the ground."

*

They find shelter in a gap in the rocks an hour later, sleet and rain still coming down. There's barely enough space for both of them and they curl up close under their blankets and cloaks. 

Geralt kisses the soft curve of Jaskier's throat, the skin damp and cool under his touch, and blows his warm breath against it. "Tomorrow," he murmurs. "Tomorrow we're going to sleep in a proper bed."

"Get a hot meal," Jaskier adds softly. He catches Geralt's hand in his and guides it under his doublet. Geralt sighs and tugs Jaskier's shirt free so he can slip under that as well and touch bare skin. Jaskier shudders but presses into the touch. There has been little of this in the past weeks, either because it was too cold for them to want to get out of their clothes or because they were too exhausted to even think about sex. 

Geralt nuzzles Jaskier's throat, smoothing his thumb over Jaskier's belly in small circles.

"We'll dry off in front of a fire, get warm again," Jaskier continues. "Eventually I'll even feel my fingers again so I can play the lute. Imagine that."

"I'd rather not," Geralt says and it earns him an elbow in the gut. 

"Perhaps I will inquire about getting my own room, darling," Jaskier snarks. "I'm not sure I want to share one with a grumpy witcher who doesn't appreciate my many talents."

"Hmm, I appreciate your talents," Geralt murmurs, kissing Jaskier's throat again. He can slowly feel Jaskier getting warmer, his skin losing the chill.

Jaskier laughs quietly and then presses himself closer to Geralt, molding their bodies together with a sigh. "Tomorrow," he says, sounding sleepy now.

"Tomorrow," Geralt repeats.

*

The rain has let up the next morning. The ground is still wet, the rocks slippery and treacherous, but Geralt has walked the Witchers Trail to Kaer Morhen many times and he leads Roach and Jaskier up safely.

When Kaer Morhen first comes into view, Geralt stops and Jaskier comes to a halt next to him.

"Oh wow," he murmurs.

"Not what you expected?" Geralt muses. The stone structure nestled amidst the mountains is imposing, even more so due to the undeniable signs of deterioration, and he knows it's not a welcoming sight the way the castles and fortresses Jaskier is used to are. 

Jaskier turns to him, brushing his hood back. His hair is tousled, falling into his face, and his cheeks are flushed from exertion. He looks dirty and exhausted and a little worse for wear, but still painfully beautiful, still _smiling_. And under the sweat and earth, he still smells like Jaskier, sweet and light; Geralt wants to tug him close and bury his face in Jaskier's neck. 

"I'm not sure what I was expecting," Jaskier admits. "It is a sight to behold, that is for sure."

He takes a step closer and Geralt reaches for him, wraps him up in his arms just for a short moment. It grounds him, having Jaskier close, the way little else has in a long time. 

*

Jaskier's eyes are wide in wonder as they walk through the courtyard to the stables, turning his head and spinning in a circle as he takes in the stone walls of the keep. Dusk is falling and it's freezing, but the fact that they've finally arrived seems to have revived Jaskier's spirits a little.

If Geralt didn't still feel some trepidation about how Jaskier will handle Kaer Morhen, he would find it amusing. But no matter what Jaskier feels now, no matter the reception he will get from the other witchers, there is no turning back. Geralt can smell the snow in the air, and he thinks the first will fall by tonight.

They get Roach settled and Geralt notes that Eskel and Lambert's horses are already there; they too must have made it up to the keep early this year. Jaskier and he grab their packs and the last of the supplies and Geralt offers Jaskier a small smile before they head out of the stables.

Vesemir is there in the courtyard, waiting for them. His eyes linger on Jaskier briefly, but he doesn't seem surprised to see Geralt isn't alone, though there's something else in his eyes. Curiosity, perhaps. Puzzlement. 

Geralt is tempted to put his arm around Jaskier and draw him against his side, keep him close. But he just keeps his shoulders relaxed and his gaze firm as Vesemir meets his. 

"Geralt," Vesemir greets. "We weren't expecting you for another week or two."

"I wanted to beat the first snowfall," Geralt replies. Vesemir nods and pulls him into a rough hug when he's close enough. Then he steps back and turns towards Jaskier, and Geralt puts a hand on Jaskier's shoulder, squeezing.

"This is Jaskier," he introduces. "Jaskier, Vesemir."

"The bard," Vesemir says, and Jaskier beams.

"Oh, so he has been telling you about me then? You never know with Geralt; he isn't very generous with words," he says. "It's an honor to finally meet you. I hope it's alright that Geralt invited me to spend the winter here in Kaer Morhen. I promise I don't need much and I will be the most unobtrusive of guests. You will barely notice me."

Geralt scoffs. "You are fucking loud, Jaskier. It's impossible for you to go unnoticed."

"Geralt," Jaskier scolds, slapping his arm lightly. "I'm trying to make a good first impression."

"By lying?" Geralt teases, amused, and Jaskier gives him a look that is dangerously close to a pout.

"Behave," he mutters.

Vesemir is watching them silently, no doubt analyzing every word and move, and Geralt has no doubt that he has already guessed the nature of their relationship. He knows Vesemir would see right past it even if Geralt would lie and he has no intention to anyway. He keeps his hand on Jaskier's shoulder, the touch light but telling. He meets Vesemir's eyes and Vesemir gives him a curt nod, understanding.

"Welcome to Kaer Morhen, Jaskier," he says, and Geralt feels Jaskier's shoulder relax under his touch.

*

"You brought a _human_?" Lambert asks.

They've barely made it into the main hall and dropped their packs down onto the ground. Jaskier shuffles closer to Geralt's side, holding himself straight and stiff, but out of the corner of his eye Geralt sees him lift his chin defiantly. 

_Good_ , Geralt thinks proudly.

"Lambert," Eskel says gruffly.

"I brought _Jaskier_ ," Geralt replies tersely. "If you've got a problem with that, we can take it outside."

Vesemir has vanished the moment they stepped inside, and Geralt is glad for it now or they would be hearing a lecture about fighting the moment they see each other. 

"Hi," Jaskier says from behind him and clears his throat. "Uh, good to meet you two? I'm harmless, I promise. Well, you're a witcher and I'm human, so that's kind of a given anyway, though I'm sure Geralt has something incredibly witty to say about how harmful my singing is. My point is, please don't try to kill me; it'll only make Geralt mad and I'd hate to be the reason for bloodshed."

"Jaskier," Geralt mutters, but he notices Lambert's posture relax a little and he bites back a grin. It's hard to be wary of Jaskier when he's being, well, himself. And Geralt knows Jaskier well enough to know it's not just nerves that are making him babble—talking is Jaskier's way of deflecting, of making himself appear harmless. Nobody looks at a chattering, colorful bard and sees a threat. 

Geralt has seen him punch someone, has seen what he can do with a dagger—even a dull, useless one like what he had before Geralt bought him a proper one—and he knows better.

"Fine, I don't want to be the reason for bloodshed that Geralt will regret," Jaskier amends. "Some people have it coming." 

Eskel snorts, looking at Jaskier with interest, though perhaps not acceptance yet. 

"I think maybe we all need a fucking drink. And you both look like you could use some food. Forgot how to hunt and feed yourself and your bard, Geralt?" he asks. "Lambert, fucking relax. We knew Geralt would bring him sooner or later." 

Jaskier makes a surprised noise and then turns to Geralt with raised eyebrows. "Geralt?"

"No fucking idea what he's talking about," Geralt mutters, and Jaskier grins a little.

"Of course not," he says. "Well, I guess I have all winter to find out what he meant, my dear witcher."

*

Dinner is a rather short affair, all of them gathered around the table in the main hall. The tension between them doesn't dissipate completely, but everyone seems to mellow out as food and wine is served.

There's a fire crackling and candles giving both light and warmth, and the hearty stew in their bowls tastes like a meal fit for kings after days of meagre dinners. With food warming his belly, Geralt starts to feel tired though, and Jaskier looks even more exhausted than Geralt feels. He's listening attentively as Geralt, Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert catch up, but he hardly says anything, sitting at Geralt's side, their knees brushing together under the table.

The wine they're having makes his pale cheeks flush pink, so at least there's some color returning to his face 

"We need sleep," Geralt decides when their bowls are empty.

Jaskier sends him a grateful smile and pats his arm. "You stay. I'm sure you have plenty to talk about. If you could be a dear and show me where I will be sleeping though, I'd appreciate it," he says.

Geralt gives a small shake of his head. "There's time to catch up tomorrow," he says and ushers Jaskier up. He doesn't care if he's being rude; he longs to crawl into an actual bed, wrap himself and Jaskier up in furs, and rest without having to worry about Jaskier being warm enough and safe.

*

Jaskier looks around the room—Geralt's room whenever he's in Kaer Morhen and now _their_ room for the next few months—and Geralt steps up behind him, winding his arms around his chest and ducking down to kiss the curve of his neck.

"I hope it's okay," he says, his tone teasing to hide the fact that he actually wonders. 

It's a decent-sized room with a large stone fireplace and a big bed, better than most of the rooms they can afford in inns, but unlike those, this isn't just a brief stop in their travels and he isn't sure what Jaskier was expecting. He's spent time in courts; he comes from nobility even if Geralt knows very little about what _that_ part of Jaskier's life was like. There's space here, but few luxuries.

Jaskier leans back and covers Geralt's hands with one of his where they're clasped over his belly. "Please remember that I had a bit to drink and you witchers drink some _potent_ stuff, darling."

"Hmm?"

Jaskier twists around in his arms and smiles up at him, warm and relaxed.

"That awful, cold room the other night?" he says, bringing Geralt out of his thoughts. "I would have been happy to spend the entire winter there if that's where you had been."

"You're more drunk than I thought," Geralt mocks, but the words make something inside of him uncoil.

Jaskier sighs. "Well, unfortunately, I think I truly _am_ tipsy enough that I'm not up to do anything but sleep," he admits. "Though I'd like to at least wash the worst of the grime off first, because I feel positively disgusting."

"Alright," Geralt says and tries to untangle himself from Jaskier. Jaskier makes an unhappy noise and holds onto him by the arms.

"Kiss me first, you idiot." 

"You just said—" Geralt starts and Jaskier interrupts him with a huff.

"Now is the wrong time to start listening to me," he says, giving Geralt another sloppy smile, and Geralt snorts but leans in. He slots his mouth over Jaskier's, slipping one hand up to his nape.

*

Jaskier's head is resting on his shoulder and he's quietly snoring when Geralt wakes up, furs and blankets tugged up to his chin. It's well past dawn already, but for once Geralt isn't in a hurry to get up. 

Just like he predicted, it must have started snowing during the night and out of the windows he sees the world blanketed in white, thick flakes still coming down lazily. The room has cooled down considerably since last night, the air that hits Geralt's bare shoulders chilly.

He carefully extracts himself from Jaskier, who makes a snuffling noise but settles back down quickly when Geralt tucks the furs back around him. Geralt pads over to the fireplace, where the last embers are still glowing, and quickly restarts a fire.

When he's done, the wood crackling in the flames, and turns around, Jaskier hasn't moved, but his eyes are cracked open and he's watching Geralt.

He smiles when Geralt lifts the furs and slides back under them. 

"You're not getting up yet? You never sleep in," he says, voice thick with sleep. His hands are on Geralt before he has even fully settled down, fingers running up his side and to his chest, _petting_ Geralt like he would an animal.

"Been a long journey," Geralt replies. 

Jaskier hums, looking pleased as he presses close against Geralt. He brushes his lips over his collarbone, kisses his throat and worms one leg between Geralt's. "Still tired?" he murmurs and Geralt can hear the smile in his voice.

Unlike Geralt, Jaskier wore a shirt to bed for extra warmth and Geralt slides his hand under the flimsy material, trails it up his back and then back down. "Hmm. Are _you_?" he asks and slips his hand lower, palming Jaskier's ass and giving it a squeeze.

Jaskier makes a quiet noise and nuzzles the spot under Geralt's chin. "Fuck, Geralt. Been so long."

Geralt hums in agreement and tilts his head down to catch Jaskier's mouth in a kiss. 

What little clothing they wore for the night is quickly discarded between heated kisses. Geralt nudges Jaskier onto his back and settles between his legs, groaning as their cocks drag against each other between their bodies. He starts moving down Jaskier's body, pressing open-mouthed kisses as he goes. 

They cleaned up a little before going to bed last night but they didn't bother with a bath, Jaskier clearly too exhausted to do much more than rub the worst of the dirt off with a damp cloth. He smells earthy and musky, not _filthy_ but not clean either, and it's as familiar a scent as Jaskier fresh out of a bath and Geralt enjoys it just as much. 

He nuzzles Jaskier's neck, kisses his shoulders and chest and licks teasingly over his nipples and then takes the left between his teeth, tugging gently. Jaskier's breath hitches, like Geralt knew it would. 

"Geralt," Jaskier whines, his hands sliding into Geralt's hair, tugging at it. 

Geralt hums against his chest, flicks his tongue over the hardened nipple and then lifts his head to do the same to the other, until both are stiff and Jaskier is moaning quietly.

"Jask," Geralt murmurs, the name muffled against Jaskier's skin. He trails his hands down Jaskier's sides and then follows the path with his mouth. He can feel Jaskier's ribs under his touch and it makes his stomach twist, feeling the effects of their travels on Jaskier's body. 

But he can hear Jaskier's heartbeat, strong and steady, and his skin is warm and he's _fine_.

Geralt's chin bumps against Jaskier's hard cock as he kisses and bites at his soft, flat belly, the skin warm and smooth under his lips. He feels the muscles quiver, feels every hitch of Jaskier's breath. Making a humming sound, Geralt grins a little and moves lower, ignoring Jaskier's cock to press his mouth to his hips and place kisses down his thighs.

"Gods," Jaskier groans. "You're being a horrid tease, Geralt of Rivia."

"Am I?" Geralt asks and curls his hands around Jaskier's knees. He sits up, bringing Jaskier's legs up over his shoulders as he goes. The furs and blankets slide down, pooling behind him, and Jaskier shivers.

"I'm going to freeze to death, you absolute brute," Jaskier complains, but Geralt knows it's not _that_ cold in the room, the fire already warming the air quite nicely.

He hums and shifts Jaskier's legs, turning his head to place a kiss to his ankle. "I'll keep you warm," he murmurs.

"You are going to drive me mad," Jaskier says, his voice thin.

"Hmm, yes," Geralt agrees with a smirk. He kisses a path up Jaskier's calf, past his knee, until his mouth reaches Jaskier's inner thigh. He feels Jaskier tremble and he nuzzles the soft, sensitive skin.

"Geralt."

"Patience," Geralt murmurs, following the word up with a gentle bite.

Jaskier twitches and curses under his breath. 

"You like that," Geralt says quietly, and it's not a question because he _knows_. He presses his mouth back to skin. He bites more than he kisses now, soothes stings with soft licks and sucks on delicate skin, leaving a line of bruises and bite marks leading up Jaskier's inner thigh, and then repeats it on the other leg. Jaskier makes the most amazing noises, breathless and wanton little cries and gasps, squirming under Geralt's attention.

"Brute," he says again, but it comes out weak. Geralt grins at him. Jaskier is flushed, hands twisted in the thin sheet under him, and his cock looks painfully hard, the tip damp and leaving a mess on his stomach. Geralt isn't doing much better, feels want sharp and hot in his belly, but he doesn't mind the wait, enjoys driving Jaskier crazy like this far too much. His own needs can wait if he gets Jaskier like this, flushed and squirming and needy. 

He leans down over him and kisses Jaskier, slides his tongue past plush, parted lips and licks into his mouth, feeling the quiet groan Jaskier makes as much as he hears it.

When they part, Jaskier grabs him by the arms and lifts his head, chasing his mouth for a second kiss. "Please," he says, panting. " _Please_ fuck me already."

"That what you want?" Geralt asks, just to tease, and rolls his hips down against Jaskier's.

Jaskier's eyelids flutter and he bites down onto his bottom lip. "Don't I always, dear?" he asks and then hisses when Geralt grinds down again, their hard cocks sliding together. His fingers dig harder into Geralt's arms and he arches up.

Geralt steals another kiss and then pulls out of Jaskier's hold. Jaskier makes a noise of protest.

"Oil," Geralt grunts. Their packs are across the room and he hurries to retrieve the oil from Jaskier's. When he turns back around, Jaskier has pulled a couple of furs back over his body, smiling sheepishly.

"I'm only a human, darling, remember?" he says dramatically as Geralt approaches the bed and slips under the furs.

"Hmm," Geralt dips down and kisses the side of Jaskier's throat. "I suppose I need to be gentle with you then, bard."

"Oh no. No, no, no," Jaskier replies, and Geralt grins against his skin. "Fuck, Geralt. It feels like it's been an eternity and if you don't take me now, I'll… I'll…"

"What?" Geralt asks and frees the stopper from the vial.

"Oh, don't expect me to be able to think and be clever right now," Jaskier scolds playfully. "I'm so desperate for you I might just waste away if you don't do something about it soon." 

Geralt huffs at Jaskier's dramatics but pours oil onto his fingers before putting the stopper back in and setting the vial aside for later. 

He's teased enough, he thinks, as he ducks his face into the curve of Jaskier's neck, breathing in his scent before his mouth finds Jaskier's pulse point. He feels the erratic beating of his heart under his mouth, listens to the hitch of his breath as he nudges his hand between Jaskier's legs, slips slick fingers past his balls to rub over his hole.

He presses in with one finger, biting back a groan at how tight and hot Jaskier feels around him. He lifts his head, kisses Jaskier once, twice. 

Jaskier might not need or want gentle, but Geralt always tries to be careful and patient with this part, watching Jaskier for any signs of discomfort. It never comes though, not when Geralt adds a second and then a third finger, nor when he finally deems Jaskier ready and nudges Jaskier's legs over his arms, positions himself and finally sinks into him. He's added more oil, cock slippery against Jaskier's hole before he catches at the rim and Geralt presses in, slow at first until he's buried all the way, hips flush against Jaskier's ass. 

"Okay?" Geralt checks, his voice a growl. 

Jaskier is looking at him with dark, wet eyes, his mouth parted around a silent moan. "P—please," he begs, and nods his head shakily. 

Geralt curls his hands around Jaskier's thighs, fingers pressing into flesh, and draws away and sinks back in smoothly. Jaskier feels amazing around him, all tight heat, and Geralt groans. 

He buries himself deep inside of him with each thrust, sets a fast and steady rhythm that has Jaskier arching and panting. Pleasure claws deep in Geralt's gut, sweat trickling down his temple. 

"Geralt," Jaskier moans and the sound of his name rolling off Jaskier's tongue makes Geralt ache, the way Jaskier sounds warm and needy and wanton. He leans over Jaskier, pressing demanding kisses to his mouth, as he continues to rut into Jaskier with smaller, sloppier thrusts.

"Come on," he grunts, and Jaskier whimpers and reaches for himself. It only takes a few pulls and he comes, muscles constricting around Geralt.

"That's it. That's it, Jask," Geralt murmurs, and it takes every bit of self-control to not follow him over the edge, to fuck Jaskier through it until he's boneless and shaking, the scent of his spend sharp in the room.

Only then does Geralt let go, shoving himself in deep as he releases, groaning in pleasure.

*

Geralt finally drags himself out of bed to go heat up water for a bath, leaving Jaskier in bed, looking dishevelled and well-fucked.

They sink into the water opposite each other and Jaskier's face goes slack with bliss as he leans back. 

"Oh, Melitele's tits, this is better than sex," he groans and then laughs when Geralt glares at him. He lifts one leg and nudges Geralt's chest with his foot. "Don't worry, sex is a close second, darling." 

Geralt can't really be insulted, because he's tempted to agree. The hot water eases the last tension and exhaustion from his body and he sighs contentedly. Jaskier's foot is still resting against him and he curls his hand around his ankle, just to touch. Jaskier's leg is lifted out of the water just enough for him to see the first few bruises he left on his thigh, red and purple, and it makes him feel a bone-deep satisfaction, seeing his marks all over Jaskier.

 _Mine_ , a voice in his head whispers, and Geralt tries his best to ignore it.

*

Hunger finally makes them leave the room, Jaskier's stomach growling insistently. There's leftover stew and bread, which they eat in the kitchen, and Geralt sneaks glances to make sure Jaskier eats the entire bowl, satisfied when Jaskier slows down, a sure sign that he's full.

"Let me show you around," Geralt offers when Jaskier has mopped up the remnants of the stew with the last of the bread. He knows Jaskier is curious about Kaer Morhen, has heard whispers and gruesome tales about it all over the Continent, and is probably eager to see the place for himself. Geralt doesn't think there's much to see, but he wants Jaskier to know his way around, to be able go where he pleases and move around comfortably.

"If there isn't anything else we should be doing," Jaskier agrees.

"Not today," Geralt assures him and tugs Jaskier closer by the wrist, leaning down to kiss him.

Jaskier looks a bit nervous when they break apart.

"What is it?" Geralt asks, soothing his thumb over Jaskier's wrist. 

Jaskier gives a small smile and shakes his head. "Nothing, dear," he says and kisses Geralt's cheek. "Show me around then. I'm sure there's much to see and I won't lie and say the curiosity hasn't been killing me. I mean, how many humans get to see Kaer Morhen?"

Geralt isn't quite sure there is much that will be of interest to Jaskier. Kaer Morhen has lost much of its former glory and it's mostly just Vesemir here now, leaving much of the fortress empty and abandoned. 

Jaskier, though, takes it all in as if Geralt is showing him around the most wondrous of places. But then, Geralt knows Jaskier is fascinated by the most unlikely of things sometimes; he stares at monsters with the same kind of wonder as at the flowers he picks at the side of the road. So he follows Geralt through Kaer Morhen with the same kind of enthusiasm he shows in the opulent homes of counts and barons and kings. 

They come to stop at a window looking out at the courtyard and the crumbling stone wall that was once part of a tower, everything dusted in snow that has since stopped falling.

"It's magnificent," Jaskier says.

Geralt grunts and wraps his arms around Jaskier. He's been doing this a lot more lately, giving in to the urge to touch Jaskier, to keep him close to him. 

"It's broken," he says.

"There can be beauty in broken things," Jaskier replies and turns in Geralt's arms. "Sometimes more so than in things that have always been whole and untouched by pain and decay."

"I suppose that's why you follow a witcher around," Geralt replies wryly. 

Jaskier places a hand against Geralt's cheek and his expression is somber even though he's smiling. "There are many reasons for that. But really, I stopped following you around a while ago—I walk by your side now, my dear," he says. "Now, let's go get our cloaks, so you can show me around outside too."

"There's not much to see other than snow and rocks." 

"But we can go see Roach. I'm sure she misses us," Jaskier says. "And I might, perhaps, want to walk around in the snow for a bit."

*

Jaskier's cheeks and the tip of his nose are bright red by the time they head into the stables, snow clumped around the soles of their boots. He looks happy, _carefree_ , and Geralt doesn't find much joy in being out in the snow, but he'll walk around outside every day if it makes Jaskier this happy.

He goes to say hello to Roach first before he checks on the other horses, making sure they're all fed and comfortable.

Jaskier sticks to Roach's side, stroking her neck and mane as he talks to her and feeds her an apple he nicked from the kitchen.

"What have I said about spoiling her?" Geralt asks.

Jaskier scoffs. "Oh, like you don't? You treat her with more love and care than a woman. Or me," he says, and Roach nips at his cloak. "Sorry, girl, my attention is all yours. We'll just ignore the big oaf, huh? Maybe, once spring is here, you and I will run away together. We'll find the lushest meadows and lie around in the sun and you can eat flowers while I serenade you." 

Roach neighs softly and it sounds way too much like agreement for Geralt's liking. 

"She's loyal to me," Geralt says, patting Lambert's horse before returning to Jaskier's side. He stands behind him, hands on Jaskier's hips, and bends down to nuzzle behind Jaskier's ear. 

Jaskier leans back into him. "We both are," he murmurs, but then he jumps when there's a thud outside, skittering out of Geralt's arms.

"It's just Eskel," Geralt says, putting a steadying hand on Jaskier's arm. He heard the footsteps outside long before Jaskier did, knew by the pattern who it was. "Are you okay?"

"Of course," Jaskier says. 

"You're jumpy," Geralt points out. "You're safe here at Kaer Morhen, Jaskier. I wouldn't have brought you here if anyone here was a threat."

"I know that," Jaskier assures him, turning to him. "It's getting rather cold. Let's go back inside, see if there's anything for us to do."

Geralt regards him a moment longer, but Jaskier is smiling, shoulders relaxed, so he lets it go.

*

"Why don't you play some music, bard?" Eskel suggests after dinner that night, looking at Jaskier expectantly over the rim of his tankard. 

Geralt glances at Jaskier, who looks rather pleased with the suggestion, smiling widely. Jaskier helped Eskel in the kitchen with dinner earlier and they seem to be getting along well, and Geralt appreciates that Eskel is obviously trying to make Jaskier feel welcome.

"Oh, if you wish. I wasn't sure if it's just Geralt who is woefully ignorant about the finer pleasures in life such as song and poetry or if that's a general witcher thing," Jaskier says, getting up and patting Geralt's shoulder. "I will get my lute. Please do make sure Geralt doesn't try to slip away, he tends to do that when I perform." 

Geralt glowers at Jaskier and then at Eskel, who laughs.

He leans forward when Jaskier has left. "I have to admit, he has guts. Not a smidge of fear on him. Don't think I've ever met a human like that, who seems so comfortable around a witcher, much less in a room full of them."

"He's traveled with me for years," Geralt reminds him. "He would be very stupid to stick with me if I terrified him."

"Yes, but I have known you much, much longer and even I know not to touch you like that."

Lambert snorts. "And yet, Geralt doesn't seem to mind having the bard's hands on him."

"Hmm, true," Eskel says, a glint in his eyes. 

"Leave off, both of you," Geralt growls and Vesemir sighs from his end of the table, shaking his head. 

Jaskier returns with his lute in hand, looking excited at the prospect of playing. Geralt just hopes he won't be disappointed. He is pretty sure Eskel and Lambert will be more appreciative of some entertainment than Geralt usually is—though he has been trying to make an effort for Jaskier recently—but he hopes Jaskier doesn't expect the kind of reception he has become accustomed to in taverns and courts alike.

Jaskier settles down next to him, straddling the bench with the lute in his hand. 

"Any requests?" he asks. 

"Sing one of your songs about Geralt. It is what you are famous for, after all," Eskel says in a teasing tone and Geralt knows he's trying to bait him, so he schools his face and looks impassively at him. 

"Amongst other things," Jaskier replies with a sniff, but he starts playing. To Geralt's relief, it's not "Toss a Coin", but rather a new song he composed over the summer after Geralt fought a bruxa. It's a good song, he has to admit, for once not embellishing too much.

He makes a quiet noise of appreciation, lips turning up into a small smile as he sends Jaskier a look and Jaskier returns it. Eskel and Lambert are listening closely and, to Geralt's surprise, so is Vesemir, who is watching Jaskier with a look of curiosity.

Jaskier plays a few more songs after that, one an old ballad that Geralt knows is much older than even he himself is, and he finishes with a song about Aelirenn's Uprising that Geralt has never heard before but thinks must be one of Jaskier's creations.

Jaskier looks pleased when he finishes, and even Lambert mutters a, "That wasn't bad."

"You play well," Vesemir agrees from the end of the table. "And that's a beautifully crafted instrument."

Jaskier nods with a smile and Geralt inwardly groans because Jaskier _loves_ it when people notice his lute. 

Jaskier strokes a hand down the polished wood. "She's a beauty," he agrees. "Most precious thing I own. It was a gift from Filavandrel."

Eskel chokes on the wine he was drinking and Lambert looks at Jaskier with a twisted smile, clearly not believing him. Vesemir though looks thoughtful.

"What the fuck," Eskel sputters. "Are you serious?"

"How did you come into possession of such a gift?" Vesemir asks.

Jaskier looks at Geralt. "Oh, Geralt never told you about this? When we met, we got into a bit of a situation with Filavandrel outside of Posada. Have you ever heard 'Toss a Coin'?"

"Are you saying that song isn't bullshit?" Lambert asks.

Jaskier laughs. "Well, there are a few teeny, tiny exaggerations in there, which Geralt is rather cross about, but the elves did smash my lute," he says. "Filavandrel gave me his to make up for it." 

"Bullshit," Eskel exclaims.

"Geralt," Jaskier says and nudges him. "Come on, tell them it's true." 

"Nah, it's bullshit," Geralt says and laughs when Jaskier hits him, a look of pure outrage on his face. Geralt smirks a little before he looks at Eskel and finally nods. "It's true. Filavandrel did give him his lute. I suspect he just wanted to see me suffer."

"You're an ass, witcher," Jaskier complains, and Geralt hums, smirking at Jaskier's annoyance.

*

"Oh, this is nice," Jaskier sighs and leans back against Geralt's chest. 

They've been at Kaer Morhen for a week now. There's much for them to do around the keep, even Jaskier. He helps in the kitchen most days and he's taken over tending to the horses, and Geralt feels a flash of pride when he thinks about how well Jaskier has settled in. Lambert has warmed up to Jaskier considerably and Eskel has taken a noticeable liking to him—something that makes jealousy gnaw at Geralt's stomach sometimes when he sees them together, a feeling that is only eased when they retreat to their room and Geralt can drag Jaskier into bed or hold him against him as they bathe.

Today, they've been apart for most of the day and it's made Geralt feel oddly unsettled, especially when he'd seen Jaskier come out of the stables with Eskel earlier. Jaskier only patted him on the arm when he joined them, keeping up his conversation with Eskel, and Geralt nearly snarled at both of them.

Eskel must have noticed, because he quickly excused himself and Geralt dragged Jaskier to their room. Jaskier's skin felt cold and Geralt suggested a bath to warm up, and it had been a welcome excuse to get Jaskier naked and hold him, wash any scents off his body that weren't Jaskier's or Geralt's.

Steam rises from the hot water around them, smelling faintly of the orange blossom oil Jaskier added. It's one of the scents Geralt likes, perhaps because it's one of Jaskier's favorites and he smells like it often, and Jaskier always makes sure that he doesn't add too much ever since the first few times when Geralt complained about overwhelming scents.

Geralt slips one arm around Jaskier and settles his hand on his belly while smoothing Jaskier's hair back with the other. Unlike most tubs in the inns they frequent, the one in Geralt's room is big enough that they can both lie in it comfortably and it's one of Geralt's favorite parts of being at Kaer Morhen, something he will miss when spring comes and they'll be back on the road.

Jaskier tips his head back, eyes half-closed. "You locked the door, right?"

"Hmm. Nobody will come in without knocking."

Geralt feels Jaskier tense, eyes opening. "The door isn't locked?"

"Jaskier. It would be their own fault if they came in here unannounced and saw something they didn't want to see," Geralt says patiently. "But I would hear them approach long before they reached the door anyway."

"You don't care," Jaskier notes and turns his head, his brows furrowed, "if they saw you and me like this? Wouldn't it bother them?"

"They know we don't just travel together," Geralt points out.

Jaskier sits up and turns, water sloshing over the edge of the tub. "You _told_ them?"

"No, but they can tell. And I didn't know I wasn't supposed to anyway," Geralt replies, running a hand over his face as he feels frustration rise in him. His earlier agitation hasn't fully faded and now it's getting worse instead of better and he clenches his teeth together. "It's not like you're keeping it a secret when you sing bawdy songs about my _sword_ and ask for rooms with one bed."

Jaskier huffs. "That's different," he says and deflates a little.

"I didn't know you wanted it to remain a secret here," Geralt grits out, and there's something acrid and bitter settling low in his stomach. He tells himself it doesn't matter, that he doesn't care either way. 

"Geralt," Jaskier says. He brings a dripping hand up to Geralt's jaw and smoothes his thumb over his cheek. "Darling, look at me."

Geralt lifts his eyes, keeps his stare firm. 

Jaskier smiles sadly. "It's not what you think. You know I will gladly tell everyone we meet that I share a bed with the White Wolf. I will kiss you in every town square we come across and I will do so proudly," he says. "But I thought maybe you didn't want your … your _family_ to know you're sharing more than just the road with someone like _me_."

"Someone like you?" Geralt echoes harshly.

"Oh, I'm no fool. But I know people see me and think I am. Flighty and colorful and loud," Jaskier says. "I'm not like you witchers. I'm a good bard, but surely I'm not what people picture your _companion_ to be like."

"Jaskier," Geralt grunts and places a hand on Jaskier's nape, pulling him in. "If you really think that, then you really _are_ a fool."

He kisses him, silences whatever quip was no doubt on Jaskier's tongue. He nips at his bottom lip as he draws away again and Jaskier lets out a quiet hiss, following him and pressing his lips back to Geralt's.

 _Mine, mine, mine,_ Geralt thinks and he doesn't know how to tell Jaskier, so he does his best to let his actions show him.

*

When they go downstairs into the great hall the next morning, Geralt rests a hand on Jaskier's nape and keeps it there—deliberately, _possessively—_ until they're seated. There's a bite mark on Jaskier's neck, only partially concealed by Jaskier's shirt and doublet. For once, Jaskier had tried to button his clothes all the way up when he got dressed, but Geralt had caught Jaskier's hands in his before he could and gave him a small, silent headshake.

He's rarely seen Jaskier look as pleased with himself as he does all morning. And when he turns to talk to Eskel with a smile, asking him to tell him more about fighting a griffin, the jealousy in Geralt's stomach feels a little less intense than before.

*

Geralt spars and practices sword fighting with Eskel and Lambert most mornings, both to pass the time and to keep their minds and skills sharp during the long months in Kaer Morhen. Jaskier usually sleeps in or uses the time to compose. Sometimes he comes and watches them, bringing his lute and a notebook. 

A couple of weeks after their arrival, they get a short reprieve from the snow, the temperatures climbing again and the snow in the courtyard melting, and they move their practice out into the courtyard. The air is crisp, but the winter sun is warm on their skin.

Geralt left Jaskier under a pile of furs that morning, fast asleep, but a few hours later, drenched in sweat and grime, he hears the faint sound of Jaskier's lute through a half-open window. The sound distracts Eskel enough that Geralt manages to knock his sword out of his hand and he laughs.

"How are you still alive if a little music is enough to draw your attention away from a fight?" he jeers.

"Shouldn't _you_ be distracted? It's your bard and his dulcet music," Eskel mutters, clearly annoyed with himself.

Geralt shrugs. "I'm used to hearing him play. He tags along when I fight monsters."

Eskel snorts. "You let him come along and play music while you slaughter beasts?"

"I've given up on trying to stop him. Stubborn as a mule," Geralt grumbles, and Eskel laughs.

"And he has you wrapped around his finger with his sweet voice and pretty eyes. The great White Wolf, tamed," he says.

"You underestimate him," Geralt sneers and lowers his sword. "He fights dirty and vicious, when he needs to. He might not be able to take a witcher, but he _can_ take another human and their biggest mistake is that they never see it coming… and if someone were to outmatch him, he would simply annoy them to death."

Eskel and Lambert both laugh at that and then there's the sound of a window creaking open.

"I want you to know that I heard that and I do not appreciate it, Geralt of Rivia," Jaskier calls down. 

Geralt turns and looks up at Jaskier, leaning out the window, his lips turned up into a smile.

"And what will you do about it, bard?"

"Oh. _Oh_ , dear one. You know the sharpest weapon I wield is my pen," Jaskier replies sweetly. "I think you just inspired me to write another ballad about your sword and its shortcomings." 

"Not if you want to see me use it again," Geralt huffs, loud enough for Jaskier to hear, but Jaskier only laughs and slams the window shut.

He expects more ribbing and mockery and while both Eskel and Lambert are smirking, Eskel sounds sincere, if surprised, when he says, "He's good for you. I've never known you not to be sullen, Geralt."

Geralt raises his eyebrows and lifts his sword in a challenge. "Perhaps I just enjoy beating you," he taunts. 

*

"You wanted to talk to me," Geralt says, stepping into the library. He's cleaned up after training with Eskel and Lambert and then gotten side-tracked by Jaskier before he ran into Lambert, who told him Vesemir has been looking for him.

Vesemir is standing by the windows, looking outside, and when he turns there's a thoughtful expression on his face. 

He nods and sits down at a table. Geralt remains standing.

"Jaskier was in here this morning, working on a new song," Vesemir says.

Geralt nods curtly. "I told him he had free rein of Kaer Morhen, the way we all do."

"Of course," Vesemir says and gives him a small smile. "I didn't mind. He's quite good; I enjoy his songs. But I have to admit, I find him to be rather… unexpected."

Geralt snorts. "He has that effect on people," he admits. 

Vesemir studies him silently for a few moments, and Geralt stays still, keeps his expression blank.

"He's not human," Vesemir says.

Geralt hums and goes to stand by the window where Vesemir was moments ago, looking out at the snow-topped mountains.

"He's mostly human," he finally replies without turning around. "There's some elven blood in him, though."

He hadn't noticed it himself at first when he met Jaskier in Posada, not until Filavandrel gave Jaskier his lute and said, " _May this always remind you of who you are, Jaskier the bard."_ There'd been something in the way he'd said it, the way he'd looked at Jaskier, that had made Geralt take notice. Had made him pay attention to Jaskier afterwards.

Geralt sighs and finally turns back around. "I'm not sure Jaskier is aware of it. We've never talked about it."

"You never asked?"

Geralt presses his lips together. "If you ask Jaskier something about himself, there are two types of reactions you will get. Either he doesn't shut up, or he gets even less talkative than I am. Asking him anything about his family will trigger the latter response."

"I figured this would be the kind of thing you would want to know about your… companion." 

"It doesn't matter to me. Jaskier is Jaskier. He has no magic as far as I can tell," Geralt says and crosses his arms over his chest. "I think he might be aging more slowly. He looks the same way now as he did when we first met, but he's young. I might be wrong. And I don't want to tell him and get his hopes up."

"You mean you don't want to get _your_ hopes up."

Geralt twists his lips wryly and shrugs. "Yeah, I suppose," he admits, and the thought makes his gut churn painfully.

Vesemir nods and stands up, clapping Geralt on the arm. "There's a reason witchers walk this path alone. Sooner or later, the people we let into our lives will be taken away from us. It's a weakness we can't afford."

"And yet," Geralt replies, "he's worth it."

Vesemir smiles sadly. "I feared you would say that. And I can see that it's too late for you to walk away from him anyway."

Geralt scoffs. "I tried, many times. He just follows me."

"Then for your sake, I hope you will not lose him, Geralt," Vesemir says. 

*

Geralt curls up behind Jaskier, bodies pressed close, and slips his arms around him. He nuzzles the soft spot behind his ear, presses a kiss there and then brushes his lips over the shell of Jaskier's ear. Perfectly round. Human.

"You've been quiet tonight," Jaskier murmurs.

"Hmm. I'm always quiet." 

Jaskier sighs. "Not like this," he says and settles his hand over Geralt's, intertwining their fingers. "Is there something wrong?"

Geralt silently pulls Jaskier closer.

"Geralt?"

"Everything is fine," Geralt replies. 

"Alright," Jaskier says and shifts against him. "But if there's something you want to talk about, I'm here. You can talk to me."

Geralt grunts and tucks his face into the curve of Jaskier's neck, breathes in the familiar scent. "Sing something," he says.

"What?" Jaskier says. "Are you sick, my dear witcher? Surely you didn't just ask me to sing for you."

Geralt huffs into Jaskier's skin and nips at it, making Jaskier yelp. Geralt knows it didn't hurt, but he soothes the sting with soft kisses anyway.

"There was a ballad you sang last year at Belletyn in Elder Speech. An old elven song," he presses.

"Yeah, okay," Jaskier murmurs. He strokes Geralt's arm and after a moment or two, he hums softly and then starts singing. Geralt stays quiet and listens, unmoving.

"Where do you know the song from?" he asks when Jaskier finishes.

"Oh, that? I learned to play it on the lute and studied the words in Oxenfurt," Jaskier replies and then hums the melody again, just for a second or two. "But I remember it from childhood, the melody at least. I think I heard my mother sing it when I was a boy."

"It's an elven lullaby," Geralt says quietly.

"Hmm, yes. I didn't know you knew anything about music, dear heart," Jaskier says, not unkindly. 

"I like it. The song," Geralt says.

Jaskier is still stroking his arm, his touch light. "Me too. I always found it comforting. I don't have many fond memories of my childhood, but that song is one of them," he says. "I suppose it's because music has always been in my blood."

 _Or because there's something else in your blood_ , Geralt thinks. _Something that will let me keep you._

"Sing it again," he murmurs and kisses the back of Jaskier's neck and holds him more tightly.

**Author's Note:**

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